Page 101 of The Rust in Her Hair

Nico lifts his hand, and there it is. The contract. He holds it up in front of my face, page after page of dense black print, and at the bottom of the last page, in my own shaking handwriting, is my full name.

Artemis Lyra Van Houten.

"You belong to him," Nico says softly. "You gave him your name, and there's nothing we can do."

No!

No! No! No!

I scream, the sound ripping across my throat, as Crispin’s face fills the room.

He smiles as he drives into me, the pain becoming sharper with every moment.

Then his white canines flash in the dark.

"You. Are. Mine!"

My eyes fly open and my body jerks hard, but I can’t move. There’s an arm banded across my waist, and it tightens, pulling me closer.

For a second, I don't know where I am.

Then I inhale.

Leather and sage swirl all around me as I realize there’s warm skin under my cheek and a heartbeat thudding slow and steady against my ear.

Nico.

The fear drains out of me all at once as I realize I'm sprawled across the alpha’s chest, my palm resting on the cross tattoo over his heart. Owen is a warm line down my back, and the arm banded across my waist is his, holding me close even in his sleep.

I’m safe.

All at once, my heart settles, and the knot in my stomach loosens and gives.

And that's when I feel Nico.

The alpha is carefully tucked into the back of my mind. He's asleep, so it isn't a strong presence, but he’s peaceful and warm, and I can feel it from the inside out.

I press my palm flatter over his heart and let our bond thrum between us. I'm so happy I could cry, and I want to lay here forever, soaking it up.

But unfortunately, I have to go to the bathroom.

Moving very slowly, I ease Owen's arm off my waist, then slide out from between them one inch at a time.

Nico's hand twitches once, reaching for me, but then goes still. Owen mumbles into the pillow and rolls into the warm dip I leave behind.

Tip toeing across the room, I grab the first shirt I find off the floor and pull it over my head. It's Nico’s, swallowing me to mid-thigh and smelling so intensely like him.

My mate.

Mine.

This gorgeous, growly, careful man is actually mine, and there's a mark on my neck to prove it.

I glance back at the bed, taking in Nico’s big, impressive body, with Owen tucked up at his side.

Last night, Owen didn’t claim my body the way Nico did.

He touched every inch of me with that skillful mouth and strong hands, but I never got him inside me. The thought heats my face even here in the morning light as I picture it. I bet he’ll claim me slow and passionate, taking his time the way he takes his time with everything. I can't wait.